


Children are our future.

by Elkian (SuperImposed)



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No War, Big glob o' OCs, Conditioning, Gen, I apologize for everything except loving my children, Informed by fandom, Kaon Barons, Kidnapping, Transformer Sparklings, Unethical Experimentation, i hope you like ocs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2020-02-10 03:47:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18652276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuperImposed/pseuds/Elkian
Summary: The miners of Kaon, of Tarn, the hard workers and the browbeaten don't have anything. Don't get to keep anything.Not even their own children.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of many, many thought paths I've had for this character. MANY.
> 
> Later references to Megatron/Terminus and Megatron/Impactor, though neither relationship is expected to make a major showing.
> 
> This setting is heavily based on Megatron's IDW background and Gemma_Inkyboots & raisedbymoogle's Alt-Vos saga (highly recommended read - https://archiveofourown.org/series/377110). Don't expect a lot of canon details, sorry.
> 
> WARNING: This chapter and much of the fic references kidnapping and conditioning of children (sparklings), and related subjects (including medical testing on said sparklings).

“Your work this semester has been exemplary,” he said, in what he thought to be warm tones. Maybe it worked on other mecha.

DiamondDrill inclined her head, just a fraction. “Thank you.” She kept her voice neutral, same as her body language, same as her expression. She’d had a lot of practice schooling them.

The Baron flapped a hand and leaned forward, friendly and conspiratorial. “No need to be so modest, my dear! With just a little more work… you could  _ make something _ of yourself...”

Diamond valiantly strangled the urge to punch his smarmy face straight off. Baron Pol sat back, gold optics dancing with delight. 

He was talking about naming her his successor. It would be a useful possibility, if she thought for a moment he was serious.

Technically speaking, the ‘students’ were discouraged from discussing anything said to them by their superiors, particularly their most  _ generous _ of patrons, the Barons themselves. Realistically, the trapped youth had been exchanging whispers and ducking surveillance since before DiamondDrill had been a glimmer in her predecessor’s spark. That the 'school' had been operative so long, that so few of their number continued on, and made no apparent difference post-adoption was... not encouraging.  


Back in reality, DiamondDrill inclined her helm again, enough to momentarily block her optics from view. “You’re too kind, Baron,” she murmured.

A hand patted her shoulder. She longed to rip it off, and keep going. “Not at all- DiamondDrill. I’m sure we can do  _ wonderful _ things together.”

DiamondDrill waited until the door swished shut behind him before she straightened up.

 

“Fragger.”

\---

"There"you"are"Diamond"did"the"interview"go"well?"

DiamondDrill paused and swiveled, red optics sweeping over a familiar duo. "You know I can't answer that," she said, in deference to the open corridor. She cocked her head to the side. "...are you two performing optimally?"

Shatterglass and Shattershield inclined their heads up, expressions nearly identical, motions in perfect synch. She took in the sight of altogether too many fresh patches welded to their little bodies.

"We"are"doing"o"kay"thank"you"Diamond."

She took a step closer, kneeling for a closer look - and to bring her mouth nearly to their audials. " _Pitslag,_ " she hissed, tamping down her growing anger. "You didn't have these this morning." She dared to reach out, one broad finger tracing the edge of a patch on Shattershield's upper arm. No two patches were in the same place across the twins. Someone behind her muttered "Well, we can tell them apart for once-" and then scuttled off when she whipped around and glared.

A tiny hand - Shatterglass - pressed to her shoulder, regaining her attention. "Please don't worry about it," she said, voice low, not quite a whisper. "We have it"handled"thank you."

Diamond's mouth pressed into a flat line, and she forced herself to school her expression, to stand up and turn around as if disinterested. "Well, if you say so," she said, overloud and looking straight ahead.

"Of course"we are"doing fine. Don't"under"estimate us."

"I would never," she said, still not looking at them.

She picked up her feet and forced herself to move forward, to the next class, to the next scheduled 'activity'. Tiny footsteps, in perfect _tik-tap-tik-tap-tik-tap_ synch, followed hot on her heels, the only sound that could cut through the rising thundercloud of anger.

DiamondDrill clenched her fists.

She hated this place.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trivia: DiamondDrill is sometimes, in other AUs, referred to as DireDiamond. This is typically in storylines where she becomes a Decepticon.

Scrap metal clattered to the ground.

-"Again."-

DiamondDrill squared her shoulders. Her optics flashed; her expression remained stoic.

The next batch of drones was faster. Much faster. _They're learning_ , she thinks, snatching one bug-like mechanism out of the air and flinging it at its fellows, bringing nearly half a dozen crashing down. More swarmed her head, blunted stingers still posing a threat as she batted them away.

She wasn't allowed weapons. She didn't know if that counted her drills; safer to assume so. She longed to employ her fangs. Better not. Would make the big bots nervous. Best they forget she had them.

Swatting these wasn't working- bounced back too fast. Change trajectory-bounce them into each other. Better. Diamond slammed a drone between her hands, sending crumpled metal to the floor.

_The sound of metal-on-metal grew louder. Closer, though she didn't know it then._

_Carrier grimaced, tucked her under a broken minecart, shoved her back into the dark. "Stay here," he'd hissed. He'd looked bad, unhappy._ Sick to his struts, _future context supplies._

_Shouting. Overseers, foremecha, a Baron himself._

_"Desist and disperse at once!" A squealing shout, rattling around the small space. "Surrender any contraband now, and be spared a worse punishment!" Drillbit pushed back even farther, little spinal strut fetching up against the side of the cart. It clattered; she froze._

_No reaction. More shouting, petering into grumbles and yelps as batons laid onto arms and hands and heads._

_"Anyone else?" A bored, overloud voice called, too close to her hiding place._

_The sound of metal-on-metal_ was as much in reality as in her head. Diamond pivoted, slamming one thick leg into a column of drones, sending them scattering for a moment.

Some buzzed drunkenly, wings dented or thrusters misaligned. Some couldn't get off the ground. More still swarmed her.

 _The Pit with this_ , she thought, and brought her head down _hard_. The drone bounced off the floor and didn't get up. Her limbs became a whirl, pale gray and paler purple whipping assailants around. They knocked into each other and ricocheted off walls, the floor, even the ceiling.

Finally the noise fell to near silence. The last drone struggled to get up from where she'd bounced it against the ground.

DiamondDrill lifted her pede.

 Silence finally fell.

 

-"Better."- 


	3. One's song suit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics are from Decepticonsensual's fic "And Mean It" (https://archiveofourown.org/works/16159148/chapters/38090969) , used with permission.

There are legitimate genii at the "school" (The Better Tomorrow Academy for Gifted Mechanisms, what an absolute _joke_ ). Diamond isn't too proud to admit that.

But she's worked hard, excelled in more subjects than almost any other student. The Barons have their optics on her for a reason (she wants their optics on her for a reason). So she has to work and study and practice, no matter how much recharge or peace of mind it costs, to be where she is: the top tier of every subject.

"Stop."

Almost every subject.

Tutor TwistWing makes that damn _face_ at her again. She'd much rather suffer his typical insouciant derision than the near-pity warring behind his optics.

Her scores in politesse and diplomacy were near-perfect; her scores in writing and poetry were barely sufficient. No amount of memorization of rule, histories, or methods could force her grades in visual arts past a mere "above average".

And no matter how many notes she hit perfectly, no matter how measured her cadence, Tutor TwistWing would twist his mouth in a wry, contemplative frown.

"You have to feel it in your spark," people would say, with those condescending little smiles. "It's all about self-expression."

"I can't help it," DuskDance would say, rocking from heelstrut to pedetip and back, never not in motion. The warm smile she wore, when speaking to Diamond, when nailing a dance move, when singing so sweet as to bring stronger sparks to their knees. "I can't help it. I have a song in my spark, and it wants to get out."

No amount of studying can fill that deficiency.

A need to excel is the only thing in her spark. Focus on performing well, succeeding, moving forward is the forefront of her drive.

"You're skilled enough," Tutor TwistWing says. "Don't let it get to you."

She doesn't even _care_ about this scrap.

But, as it turns out.

She hates to fail at anything.

"Again, please, Tutor," she says. It comes out rusty; she unlocks her jaw, gritted denta scraping, and repeats it.

The flier shakes his head, but gamely restarts the accompaniment. He raises a green servo to conduct; the chains clink in time to the beat.

* * *

 

 _Clink_.

Miner D-16 ignored the chains as he swung. The pickaxe - both a punishment and, today, a necessity - swung down as sure as ever.

 

Song rallied through the tunnel, a tune far older than he. His lips move in time to the words, but he stops himself from singing along.

“ _ Rain fall sharp, and the mist rise cold, _

_ And the foreman come down for his purple gold, _

_ He’ll take it from your cart, or he’ll take it from your lines, _

_ Or he’ll take it from your spark, ’cause you’re married to the mines. _ ”

 

_ Clang _ . A heap of purple gold in crystalized energon collects about his feet.

 

The chains are starting to rust. His substructure would crawl, if he cared.

 

He’s not going to rust down here.

 

He swings the pickaxe again, lips opening so soft on his own words, a tune festering in his spark. Miner D-25 gives him a worried look, but says nothing, scuttling back to the minecart with an armful of lode.

 

_ “Rain fall sharp, and the moon rise blue, _

_ No purple gold without me and you, _

_ Take your axe, take your hammer, meet the foreman at the door, _

_ Tell him we ain’t married to the mines no more!” _

 

_ Clang. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TwistWing is better known as SnapBack, a Decepticon with authority issues under DireDiamond's command.  
> DuskDance/DawnDance/DiamondDance/???? is DiamonDrill's younger sister (via Soundwave) in most storylines.
> 
> And yes, I've come to the realization that this is essentially Diamond-squad's High School AU lmao.


End file.
